


Small Mistakes (Big Consequences)

by pikasafire



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter knows he and El can't have kids. After Peter and El spend a careless night with Neal, El discovers she’s pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Mistakes (Big Consequences)

**Title** : Small Mistakes (Big Consequences)  
**Rating** : R  
**Word count** : ~5700  
**Pairing** : El/Peter/Neal (one night stand), El/Peter  
**Summary** : Peter knows he and El can't have kids. After Peter and El spend a careless night with Neal, El discovers she’s pregnant.  
**A/N** : This started as a tiny prompt for the porn-athon. And then... this happened. Whoops? So many thanks to [](http://bootson.livejournal.com/profile)[**bootson**](http://bootson.livejournal.com/) who not only listened to me rant about this, but also provided the scorching hot porn. <3  
**IMPORTANT NOTE** : This isn't intended to be sappy, fluffy or happy. This is a _realistic_ interpretation of what I think would happen if Neal got El pregnant - complete with jealously, anger, selfishness and regret. However, this is the first of a longer series, and I can promise you it all ends well.

 

*

Peter knows they can't have kids. It was something they discovered as newly-weds, when the spare room was going to be a nursery and the yard where their little boy or girl would kick a ball around.

It wasn't easy; nights of tears and fighting and blame. But they got through it, came to peace with the fact that their house was maybe only ever going to have the two of them. Satchmo made the echo of the house easier to take, El's business and Peter's job keeping them busy until the daydream of tiny clothes and little grins had faded from their imaginations.

They hadn't been counting on Neal in their life.

*

It’s been a bad day, two men dead, Jones in the hospital. He'll pull through, but he'll be on desk duty for the next little while. Neal is pale, battered and dirty after six hours being held hostage in a shipping container. Peter can feel adrenaline, anger thrumming through his veins and he fidgets as he drives, tapping his fingers on the wheel, still furious that those smugglers dared to touch his people.

El's waiting for them when they get home, tense and worried. Peter barely has his coat off before she’s stretching up, hugging his neck and tilting her head up for a kiss. The nerves that had been racing through Peter’s body, left over from the stand-off finally coalesce into a more focused feeling. El has her hand wrapped in his shirt collar, pulling him down.

Peter presses a hand to her lower back, pulling their bodies together, letting the kiss deepen until their tongues are tangling.

Neal coughs.

El doesn’t jerk away, not like she’d forgotten Neal was there. They never forgot Neal; it’s impossible to.

“I got Peter home, so I’ll just be on my way,” Neal grins, like he’s accomplished something.

But Peter knows that look. That’s Neal’s most fake smile. It’s the one Neal puts on when he knows he’s not getting his way or has been shot at again. It’s the one he’d shown everyone so often after Kate.

Peter hates that smile. Apparently, El does, too.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy,” El laughed, body loose now that she’s seen them alive and safe.

Neal laughs, a bit shaky, and leans down to wrap his arms around El’s shoulders. She’s doesn’t settled for a quick hug around his waist, instead reaching up to push his hat off and get her fingers into his hair, cradling his head against her neck.

When he pulls back, El doesn’t let him get far, keeping their foreheads together, and Peter’s suddenly struck with how calm they look, how much it seems that El is holding Neal up.

Peter moves in behind Neal, hand grazing his shoulders before he can help it. Neal makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat just as Peter meets El’s eyes.

It’s not like they never talked about it.

Sort of.

It doesn’t take much for El to press her lips to Neal’s. Neal freezes, starts to step away but Peter’s there, hands falling to Neal’s hips and holding him in place. Neal sighs against El’s mouth before bringing a hand up to her throat, tilting her head and coaxing her lips open.

Peter presses closer, rubbing his hardening cock against Neal’s ass until Neal breaks away to moan and rock back into it.

“You can say no,” El whispers. Neal’s only answer is to reach back to pull Peter’s head closer while sliding his free hand down past El’s collarbone to cup her breast.

Peter sighs and he’s not sure how it happens, but in the next moment, he has Neal pressed against the wall by the door, his hands in Neal’s hair, and Neal’s lips on his throat.

El’s on her knees, working to pull Neal’s belt free. Peter pushes Neal back by his shoulders, grinning at how disheveled Neal looks - hair askew, lips red and spit-slicked. Neal looks up at him with eyes more black than blue and Peter just - stops thinking.

His fingers are still fumbling with Neal’s buttons when Neal groans a sting of curses. El giggles - actually _giggles_ \- and splays a hand on Peter’s thigh. Peter looks down, choking back a moan at how amazing El looks, eyes trained up toward them and tongue flicking against the slit of Neal’s cock.

Peter runs a hand through her hair and helps Neal shove his shirt off his shoulders.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, breathless because Neal’s practically writhing and Neal looks good in a suit but he’s fucking amazing out of one, all lean lines and pale skin.

Neal whines, hands clutching at the wall. “Anything. Everything. Peter, whatever.”

El pulls away from Neal’s cock with a wet sound that has Peter biting at Neal’s shoulder and Neal digging his nails into Peter’s neck.

“You should fuck me.” She says it like she’s telling them what they’re having for dinner, like it’s just a fact and she’s relaying information.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees and helps her up.

Neal looks a little dazed, but he nods and reaches for her. They’re kissing, tongues flashing between their mouths and Peter suddenly wants to see that so badly he can’t wait for them to stop being distracted. He pushed the straps of El’s dress down her shoulders, but they get caught at her elbows.

No one minds. Neal leans in to mouth at El’s nipples through the lace of her bra. She whines and drops her head back, reaching down to work her panties off her hips.

“Neal,” she moans, hooking a leg over his hip.

“Yeah,” Neal murmurs, lifting El without any trouble at all. He moves quickly, pulling her up and pressing her against the wall in one swift move. El’s knees clamp against his sides and one of his hands disappears under the fabric of her dress.

Peter can tell the moment Neal enters her by the way her body seems to melt into Neal’s, the same way it always has for Peter. Neal doesn’t go easy on her, doesn’t hold back or take his time; El’s encouraging him, rocking into him as much as she can and pulling his head down to her lips or further to her breast, putting Neal where she wants him.

Neal goes easily and Peter doesn’t realize he’s staring until they both gasp his name, one after the other. Peter moves in, lining himself up behind Neal and reaching out to toy with El’s nipples the way she likes. Neal tilts his head back against Peter’s shoulder when Peter boxes them both in with his arms.

Feeling them move, watching them, _hearing_ them: Peter’s drunk with it and so hard he feels like he could die.

It’s over almost too soon, El crying out the second Neal reaches down to rub her clit and Neal groaning as his body tenses and they both shake.

They’re still gasping and shifting against each other, chasing sensations until Neal pulls back and whines about it being too much.

Peter laughs but captures Neal in a kiss anyway. He can’t help rocking their hips together until he gets enough friction to be both a tease and relief.

“Upstairs,” Peter orders.

El smacks his ass, grinning at him with fond exasperation. Neal smirks, a devilish look Peter thought was reserved only for his best jobs.When Neal tugs him by the tie, urging him toward the stairs, hand out to pull El with them.

Peter’s definitely on board with that plan.

*

It's awkward but not the next morning. Neal dresses quietly in the dark, early enough in the morning that the sun hasn't risen yet and El blinks awake, a sleepy protest and she reaches out, touches his wrist.

"Neal? It's early," she murmurs.

He shushes her gently, reaching to brush the hair out of her face. "You'll wake Peter."

"Peter is already awake," comes the half asleep rumblings from the other side of the bed. "For a thief, you're not very stealthy."

"Alleged," Neal whispers back and Peter huffs a quiet laugh, rolling over to settle back to sleep.

"I'll make you coffee before you go," Elizabeth says, stretching a little. "No one should face this time of day without coffee." She sits up, pulling the sheet with her, searching for her clothes, and Peter grumbles sleepily, his skin exposed to the chilly morning air.

Neal hands her a robe, hesitating for a second before turning his back to give her some privacy, not entirely sure where his allowances end.

She slips out of bed, bends to tuck the blankets back around Peter, pressing a kiss to his mouth, "Go back to sleep, sweetie. I'll bring you coffee after I've seen Neal out."

An incoherent noise of agreement is all she gets in return, Peter already mostly asleep.

"You don't have to." It's a half-hearted obligatory protest and El waves it away, padding barefoot down the stairs.

"Have to let Satch out anyway," she says, brushing fingers absently through her tangled hair.

Neal rests his hip against the counter, watching El let Satchmo outside and prepare the coffee, feeling more awkward than he ever has. "Elizabeth-" he starts, "last night..." he's not entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

"Last night was wonderful, Neal."

Neal doesn't need to be a genius to hear the unspoken 'but' hanging in the air between them. "But it was a one-time thing." he finishes, his heart sinking. "Yeah, figured." He attempts light-hearted, but some bitterness must seep through because Elizabeth looks at him sadly, moves to stand in front of him, taking his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says. "Maybe we shouldn't have-"

"No, no." The smile Neal conjures is a little more real this time, "It takes two to tango," he quips, "or three, in this case." El hands him a mug, coffee made exactly the way that Neal likes it, and the thought that Elizabeth doesn't need to ask makes his chest feel tight. He wraps his fingers around it, stares into the mug like it holds the secrets of the universe. It's easier than looking at her, but he can't stop himself from admitting, quietly, so quietly that he half hopes she doesn't hear him, “It was worth it.”

Neal's grateful that she doesn't respond, just touches his hand gently as she passes, holding out a mug to a grumpy Peter who appears rumpled and unshaven in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Couldn't wait for the coffee?" Neal quips, trying desperately to be _normal_.

“Someone was noisy this morning,” Peter grumbles, taking a fortifying sip of coffee. There's a moment of silence, a rearranging of dynamics and they're all feeling a little off kilter. “Back to normal tomorrow?” Peter suddenly asks, gruff and rumpled, direction without saying the words and Neal's heart clenches for a second, that last little ember of hope quashed.

He gives an unconvincing smile. “Yeah. No problems.” Neal places his coffee mug back on the counter-top, mostly untouched. He can't be here right now, not when the lines are still blurry. “Thank you for the coffee.” he says to Elizabeth. he picks his hat up from the counter, wanting something in his hands to keep him from reaching out. He needs to go, but his feet refuse to move, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” He hates how pathetic he sounds, how needy, but El just looks at him sadly, holds out her hand as permission and Neal goes. He breathes her in, his hand cupping her jaw, sliding around to the soft skin at the back of her neck, hidden by her hair and the kiss is so gentle it almost hurts. He rests his forehead against hers, steels himself. He can't have this. He's not allowed. You can never steal the best things.

He steps back, takes a breath, turns to face Peter. Peter's watching him quietly, doesn't move away as Neal moves closer, and that's all the permission Neal needs right now. Neal reaches out, lets Peter pull him closer, his hand at the back of Neal’s neck, holding him in place as he kisses him gently, grip tightening as Neal tries to press closer. Neal can’t take gentle, not from Peter. Not now.

“Okay?” Peter says, drawing back, squeezing Neal’s shoulder gently. Neal nods, but keeps his eyes downcast as he places his hat on his head, the cover of confidence. He doesn’t meet their eyes as he murmurs a quiet goodbye and leaves in the early Sunday morning dawn light. By Monday, he will have conned himself into believing it was something else, but for now, with salt in the wounds, Neal doesn’t bother pretending that it doesn’t hurt like hell. It’s cold at home and Neal doesn’t bother turning the heat on, simply crawling back into bed, and trying desperately to forget the way Peter and El had felt, pressed against him.

Tomorrow, things will be back to normal. For today, he allows himself to wallow in his own heartbreak.

*

Monday is back to normal, just like Neal promised. By Wednesday, he can look Peter in the eye again. By Friday, he’s joking and cocky and frustrating, and Peter’s shoulders have relaxed. Neal has dinner with them both on Friday night, pushing past the awkwardness, the memories around the house ( _Peter shoving him against the wall, Elizabeth’s clever fingers on his belt right there in the entry_ ). After two weeks, it was like it never happened at all.

If only Neal could say the same about his dreams. But, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his work life, who does it hurt, other than himself?

*

Elizabeth hasn't been feeling well recently. Nothing too serious, tiredness and nausea. Probably something she ate, or a touch of the flu, but Peter sends her to the doctor anyway, over-protective and concerned. The doctor doesn’t seem worried, but she draws blood anyway, tells Elizabeth to come back in a week.

And so Elizabeth finds herself sitting in the doctors office, in the perpetually uncomfortable chairs as her doctor smiles at her over her glasses, “Mrs. Burke, congratulations. You're pregnant.”

Pregnant.

It’s not even _possible_.

Elizabeth doesn’t remember much about getting home, her world view, her future shifting with that one little word. _Pregnant_. She kicks her shoes off by the door, heads upstairs to the bedroom. She sits on the side of the bed. She feels sick and she doesn't know whether it's the shock or the pregnancy, but … this can't be possible. Peter can't have children. They've been having sex without protection for ten years, why _now_.

It hits her suddenly, and for a moment she thinks she really is going to be sick. Neal. She can't remember if they used protection, but they don't _buy_ condoms any more. How could they be so _stupid_?

The thought rises, unbidden. Neal's baby would be beautiful, big blue eyes and innate charm, and it's all a bit overwhelming. El's future had rearranged itself when they realised they couldn't have children, she'd come to terms with it. She presses her hand to her mouth, can feel tears press behind her eyelids even as she touches her stomach gently. A _baby_. She can have this. Her and Peter, _they_ can have this.

*

She's shaking with nerves by the time Peter walks through the door, terrified and nervous and what if he doesn't want it? What if they can't have it? He kisses her hello, holds her close for a moment.

“Hey hon,” he says, his arms warm and solid around her, and El takes a breath, holds on a little tighter, pressing her face to his chest. “El? Honey? What's wrong?”

She takes a breath, loosens her grip a little so she can see his face. She wanted this to go differently, maybe break it to him over dinner, but the words burst from her mouth, high pitched and upset, "Peter, I'm pregnant."

He freezes, looks down at her like she's just announced that she's sprouted another head. "What?"

Her heart's pounding in her chest, “I'm pregnant.” She repeats. She's not sure if she wants to see his reaction, but she can't make herself look away.

"How?" Peter steps back a little, looks down at her flat stomach and reaches out, his hands hovering for a second, like she's too precious to touch, wonder on his face. And this is what El's dreading.

"Honey," She hesitates, "I think it was Neal." Is Neal's. The distinction is important. It's not Neal's. It can't be. It's hers and Peter's, there can't be three of them, that's not how it works.

"Neal?" Peter looks like he's been slapped, his face shuttered and he pulls away a little, lets her go so he can run a hand through his hair. "Are you sure? Didn't we use anything?" he's mostly talking to himself, biting at his lower lip. "Jesus. What now? What do we do?"

"We tell Neal?" It's the only thing El can think of. They can't do this without him knowing, it's not fair.

"No, no. That's going to make it messy."

El's not entirely sure what Peter's saying. "Babies _are_ messy, Peter."

"He doesn't have to-” Peter stops, realises they're not on the same page, “Wait, are you saying you want to keep it?" He stares at her.

"Are you saying you don't?" El says fiercely, and this is something she hadn’t considered. Of _course_ they’re going to keep it. "We've always wanted kids. Here's our chance.”

"But, it's Neal's, El. We can't just have someone else’s baby!"

“Which is why we need to _talk_ to him.” She can feel tears threatening, and swallows them down viciously. She's not going to be one of those women who cries at everything. She's _not_. “I thought you wanted kids.”

Peter looks torn, “I did. I do. But-” He struggles for words. “I don't know.” He doesn’t know how to say it without being an asshole, but it’s not _fair_. “We can’t just have Neal’s baby. It’s-” _not mine_. “- It’s not right.”

“We’ll talk to him.” She looks so hopeful. “He’ll understand. We can have this, Peter. Our own baby.”

“Yours and Neal’s.” Peter snaps, and he hates that he’s being the jealous husband, that he’s considering giving up something they’ve always wanted because it’s not _his_. Genetics don’t matter, he knows that. But, the thought of this happening, that Neal and El would create this perfect, beautiful human being that he had no part in, it’s not _fair_. Neal gets everything he wants. He doesn’t get El too.

“Ours.” El says, and she reaches out to him, wraps her arms around him, buries her face in her shoulder. “Mine and yours. You’d be the father in all the ways that matter.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her no. He can’t take this away from her, from _them_. This hopeful naive belief that they can have this, and it’ll be easy and perfect. A _baby_. He could be a _Dad_. “I need to think about it,” he says, wrapping his arms around her again and pressing a kiss into her hair, “Can we think about it for a few days before we talk to him?”

A _baby_.

*

Peter's acting weird.

Not 'I know what you're up to' weird. Not even 'I've fucked up and El's going to be mad at me'. It's a different kind of weird, that involves a lot of closed doors and snapped conversations and staring into space thinking hard about something.

It takes Neal half the week to realise that he's not helping things, that Peter seems to be even snappier if Neal's bugging him, so Neal sits at his desk, banished with the unfriendly threat of 'I swear to God, Caffrey, if I see you hovering in my doorway one more time today, I will put you back in prison.' Neal thinks it's a little harsh, but sits obediently at his desk, doodling all over what may possibly be the most boring case file in existence. He looks up as Peter sweeps past a few hours later, a muttered, “Lunch, I'll be back in a bit. Stay out of trouble,” to Neal on his way past.

Well, that's even weirder. Peter hates eating alone. Neal grins. He loves a mystery. Especially when there's only one thing left to do: snoop.

No one blinks twice at seeing Neal in Peter's office, even when Peter's not there. Neal tucks the defaced file under his arm, heads up to the office, tossing the file on top of the others on the desk, glancing around before quickly typing Peter's password into the computer (Peter really needs to change his password more often than once a week to keep Neal out.)

There's nothing strange in Peter's email. Nothing in the top drawer of his desk, no case files that would be annoying him. On a whim, Neal checks the Internet History. A couple of sporting websites, the official FBI website, work related stuff, pregnancy websites, Wikipedia. Whoa. _Pregnancy websites_. Neal stares at it for a moment, remembers how Peter had mentioned the other day that El had been sick recently. El's _pregnant_. Neal grins, closes everything down quickly. No wonder Peter's been acting so weird.

Neal grabs the casefile, heads back to his desk, “Heading out,” he tells Diana, whistling cheerfully on his way out, “Tell Peter to call me if he needs me.”

Neal has _shopping_ to do.

*

Later that evening, Neal balances the basket on his hip and reaches for the doorbell, fussing with the contents while he waits for Elizabeth to answer. He’s gotten the cutest things he could find. Tiny jumpsuits in gender neutral colours - designer label, of course - bottles and gels, a little stuffed giraffe. And on top, a tiny fedora. Neal’s pretty sure it was made for a bear, but he couldn’t just _leave_ it there. This baby is going to be well-dressed if nothing else.

Elizabeth looks surprised to see him, and Neal grins at her, steps inside and placing the basket on the coffee table before sweeping her up in a hug. “Congratulations seem to be in order,” he announces, pulling a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne from the basket.

El pulls away, an uncertain half-smile. “Uh. Thank you, Neal.” She glances over to where Peter stands in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

“Peter!” Neal says happily, “Congratulations! I bought you presents. I can’t believe you didn’t _tell_ me!”

That makes El look up from where she’s poking about in the basket. “Wait. You didn’t tell him?” She sounds horrified.

“No one told me,” Neal grins, pleased with his own cleverness. “I figured it out on my own.”

“You went through my computer, didn’t you?” Peter says, and instead of amused, he sounds angry.

Neal hesitates, “I know I probably wasn’t supposed to know,” He says, frowning, “But, I thought this was a happy thing.” He looks uncertain, “It _is_ a happy thing, right?” There’s some complicated non-verbal communication with eyebrows and Neal looks at them, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Neal,” Elizabeth says, eyes serious. “It’s yours.”

The smile falls from his mouth. “What?”

“The baby,” El repeats, “It’s yours. Not Peter’s.”

Neal looks over reflexively at Peter for confirmation. “It’s yours,” Peter says, his jaw tight, “I can’t have kids.”

“Um.” Neal’s not entirely sure how he should be reacting to this news, and suddenly the little basket of gifts seems wildly inappropriate. “Okay?” They’re both standing there, staring at him. What do they want him to _say_? He feels cornered, terrified. What does this mean for him and Peter? But, also. _Baby_. One that’s _his_. Something growing inside of Elizabeth that’s _his_. He never thought he’d be a father; that hope had died with Kate.

“Neal,” Elizabeth says, “what do you want to do?”

“Me? I - ” His eyes dart again towards Peter, who’s standing tense to the side. “You’re keeping it?” He doesn’t know what to say to this, tries to quell the hope that they want him to play a part in this. El looks pale and nervous, like she’s convinced he’s going to say no. Neal doesn’t think he could refuse either of them anything.

“If it’s okay with you. If you want this too.”

Neal’s mouth is dry, and he can feel his heart race beneath his ribs, “How would that work?” He tries for humour, feeling out of depth and terrified, “I have two daddies and a mommy?”

“You wouldn’t have a part in it.” Peter’s words are designed to cut, jealousy and possessiveness making him cruel. “The baby would be mine and El’s. Yours in genetics only.”

Neal stares at him for a moment and then, before he can do something unforgivable, like punch Peter in the mouth, he turns wordlessly on his heels and he leaves.

*

Elizabeth finds him on a bench at Morningside Park. Neal’s not surprised. He doesn’t look at her. He’s not sure if he can.

“Can I sit down?”

Neal shrugs wordlessly.

“Are you okay, Neal?” Elizabeth asks, blunt and to the point as always. “We won’t keep it. Not if it’s not okay with you. You’re more important.”

“More important than something you’ve wanted for almost a decade?” Neal can’t help the bitterness that colours his voice.

El doesn’t hesitate, “Of course.” They sit quietly, the busy noise of the city around them. “Peter didn’t mean it.” She says quietly.

Neal’s not stupid. “Yeah. He did.”

A gentle hand on the back of Neal’s neck. “Not like that, he didn’t. We wouldn’t cut you out, Neal. Peter’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as scornful or self-loathing as it does. He wants to take back the words the second they’re out of his mouth, tries to cover them with bluster, “He has you.” Neal knows that El doesn’t buy it for a second, but she lets it slide, links their hands together. "You... Want it? You want to keep it? Even though it's-" _mine_. The word clogs in his throat. “Even though it’s not Peter’s?”

"Me and Peter tried for a long time. Peter can't. We dealt with it. And now this has happened, and... I want to keep it. Maybe this is our chance, you know?"

"Then keep it." The words hurt. But, Neal can’t begrudge her this.

"Neal-"

"Me and Kate talked about it. We used to walk around New York, talking about where our kids would play and what we'd name them." Neal laughs, sounding hollow and damp. "Maybe this is my only chance. Even if I'll only be Uncle Neal." His shoulders are slumped, talking into his knees, looking lonely and sad. Elizabeth reaches out, pulls him close.

"Tell me about Kate," she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder.

*

The apartment seems unusually quiet when Neal returns and he stands in the middle of the room, feeling more than a little lost.

A baby. _His_ baby. And maybe he won’t be a father, not the way he wanted, but he can’t deny them - the two people he loves more than anything else - he can’t take away something they want so desperately. Something that was so easy for him to give them.

Living with it is something else entirely.

_”We want you to have a part in this too, Neal.”_

_“That’s not what it sounded like.”_

_“You’ll be... think of it more as ‘favourite Uncle Neal’,” Elizabeth says, trying to keep her voice light and cheery, betrayed by the slightly shaky grip on his arm._

_“Yeah.”_

_Elizabeth’s face falls, “I know it’s not what you wanted,” she says quietly, “And if it’s not okay, then that’s it, I’ll go to the clinic tomorrow and-”_

_“No!” It’s sharper than he intends, “Don’t be so stupid.”_

_There’s a long stretch of silence, “Nothing will change.” Neal’s pretty sure Elizabeth means that to be reassuring rather than cutting, masks his expression so she doesn’t see how much that stings. “It’ll be just like always, only, you’ll have given us this amazing gift. You can come to the appointments and babysit, and spoil the baby rotten.” She smiles, almost looking past him, like looking into this bright future she has with Peter and the baby. No room for Neal. “You can teach him or her to paint.”_

_“Yours and Peter’s” Neal whispers to himself. Tries to tell himself that he’s not already jealous of the tiny bundle of cells growing in El’s body._

_“And baby’s favourite Uncle Neal,” El whispers back, pressing a kiss to his cheek._

Maybe. Maybe he’ll never be the one to be able to see baby’s first steps and baby’s first words. He might never be the one to comfort him when he has a nightmare or be the one cheering on the sidelines every Saturday morning soccer match, but, he can be there for some of it.

And he’s made Peter and El happy? Isn’t that the main thing?

*

The knock on the door is expected, but not entirely welcome. It’s been a long day and Neal’s not sure if he wants to have to deal with Peter’s jealously, but he stands, a weary “Coming,” called through the door.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says before Neal’s even completely opened the door.

“Come in, Peter.” Neal sighs, heading to the fridge, and pulling out a couple of beers.

They settle at the kitchen table, not quite meeting each others eyes. “I’m sorry,” Peter says again, quieter this time. “I shouldn’t have said any of what I did.”

Neal runs a tired hand over his face, “ _You_ were jealous. Of _me_. Peter, that’s ridiculous.”

Peter shrugs awkwardly. “You can do everything,” he mutters, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I can’t even have my own kids.”

“Being able to impregnate someone isn’t really a marketable skill,” Neal says dryly. “But I’ll be sure to stick it on my resume.” An awkward pause, “I’m sorry, Peter. I wasn’t thinking that night, I should have thought to -” he waves a hand, can’t quite bring himself to say the word ‘condom’ or ‘protection’ to Peter’s face.

“None of us were really thinking,” Peter says, looking as uncomfortable as Neal feels. This is the closest they’ve come to talking about it. “I mean, we don’t regret it. Not at all, but, it wasn’t planned like that, Neal.”

“You planned it?”

“No, _no_. But, you know, just in case you thought...” Peter trails off and it takes Neal a few seconds to try and decipher the meaning.

“You thought _I’d_ think that you planned it? What? Like some sort of sperm theft?” The thought is ridiculous, “You can’t con a con-man, Peter.” Neal teases, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Peter cracks a smile, gives Neal such a grateful look that Neal feels his chest tighten, tempers down on the painful want in his heart. “I’m glad that if anyone was going to give El and me a baby, that it was you.” Peter says, so quietly that Neal has to strain to hear and he does not tear up, he _doesn’t_.

“I’d be a pretty terrible Dad,” Neal says, when he’s pretty sure that he can speak without his voice breaking, “But I’ll remind you of your thank-you’s when you’re raising a five-year-old Neal Caffrey.”

“And Elizabeth Burke,” Peter reminds him, with a smile.

“You’re going to raise a baby that’s part me, and part El and you think you’re going to survive? Should I warn you that I started young?”

“I’m shocked,” Peter deadpans, “Absolutely shocked.”

“Oh yeah, you’ll be chasing that baby down the street at six months old.” Neal raises his foot, taps at the tracking anklet, “You might want to invest in a tiny one of these.”

‘Yeah, well,” Peter grumbles. “At least the kid’ll be cute.”

“Why Peter, did you just call me cute?”

Peter gives him a once over, frowns a little in scrutiny. “Well. I guess the baby could do worse.”

Neal laughs a little, pastes on his best happy face. It might not be ideal, it might not have been planned, but damned if he’s going to ruin this for them.

Besides, Neal now has six months to fashion a very small lock-picking set.

*

END  



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